


he deserves great things (like a crown)

by jennycaakes



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Misunderstandings, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-02
Updated: 2017-05-02
Packaged: 2018-10-26 19:11:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10792983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jennycaakes/pseuds/jennycaakes
Summary: Roan and Monty are spending a lot of time together. Miller is pretty sure (and pretty devastated) that they're dating.





	he deserves great things (like a crown)

“Again,” Echo demands.

Miller swallows his groan. He fucking hates fighting with swords. He’s a good shot and having a gun in his hand is like a natural extension of himself. But Azgeda territory forbids guns and Bellamy thought it would be good for Miller to practice more hand-to-hand combat and so here he is, sparring with Echo, hating his life.

“Give me a second,” Miller mutters while Echo swings her arms around in an attempt to stretch.

“You’re distracted today, Nathan.”

He shoots her a look. “Number one,” Miller says, “don’t call me Nathan.” Echo rolls her eyes. “Number two. _I still hate you_. So please don’t act like we’re friends.”

Echo tips her head to the side. “Our people have an alliance,” she reminds him.

That’s the whole reason half of the delinquents are in Azgeda’s capitol anyway. Raven and Monty working to upgrade Azgeda tech, Bellamy and Clarke establishing trade routes, Miller just learning how to fucking spar, apparently. Sometimes it feels like people forget his dad was Chief Guard and Miller has great insight to things like security or trade. But _whatever._ Sparring it is, for the rest of his goddamn life.

“That’s great,” Miller says, reaching for his sword again. “I really don’t care.”

Miller hates Echo. He hates that after everything, Roan still keeps her close and values her as important. She’s a great and worthy fighter, sure, and maybe even a decent teacher, but she’s always going to do whatever she can to benefit herself. If she thought it would be a good power play, she could scrap sparring completely and slit Miller’s throat. He won't admit it makes him nervous.

“Again,” Echo repeats. “Bellamy will want to see your improvement.”

Her infatuation with Bellamy also makes Miller want to vomit.

As Miller readjusts the grip on his sword, practically feeling his callouses forming, someone calls out for him, “Miller!” Both he and Echo turn toward the entrance of the training room, finding Raven with Clarke by her side. Both of them are grinning. “Having fun?”

“What do you want, Reyes?” Miller calls back.

“Reconvene,” Clarke says. “You can pick up the sword again tomorrow.”

If Echo’s presence bothers Clarke, it doesn’t show on her face. Clarke's presence clearly bothers Echo, though. Her nose is wrinkling and everything.

Miller hands his sword back to Echo. “See you tomorrow,” Echo says, taking it from him.

“Unfortunately,” Miller mutters. He starts off for his friends. “Done early today?” he asks, wiping his forehead with his sleeve. Sparring is a lot more work than just general fighting. Swords are heavy. His muscles are aching. He’s tired. “Where’re Monty and Bellamy?”

“Bellamy’s washing up,” Clarke says, “because on our tour of the nearby village a carriage ran through mud and he was right in the center of the splash.”

“And Monty’s with Roan,” Raven answers.

Miller tries his hardest not to say it but, “Again?” bursts out of him anyway.

“Again,” Raven confirms with a nod. Miller doesn’t like the heat that crawls up his neck at hearing this. They’ve only been here a couple of weeks but the moment Monty arrived it was like Roan–the fucking _King_ of Azgeda–had his eyes on Monty and has spent an insane amount of time with him.

Like, Monty’s great. Miller knows perfectly well how great Monty is, what with his steady presence and incredible brain and soft, dimpled smiles that make Miller’s insides feel like hot ash. But Monty’s been spending _a lot_ of time with Roan. More time than he spends with Miller.

Which, Miller’s not bitter about that at all, not one bit. He didn’t agree to this trip to Azgeda just to spend more time with Monty or anything like that. Not at all.

“Feel like they’re always together,” Miller murmurs in an attempt to make his outburst more understandable.

“They get along really well,” Raven says.

“A lot better than you and Echo,” Clarke points out with a smile.

“Everyone gets along better with Roan than they get along with Echo,” Miller tells her. “Echo sucks.”

“She’s the worst,” Clarke agrees, still smiling.

They share their hatred for Echo as they walk to the quarters Roan had assigned the delinquents when they first arrived. Monty and Raven were sharing, while Bellamy and Clarke shared as well, and it left Miller with the only single. Technically he was sharing a room with Octavia, but Octavia was out and about with Ilian doing some repentance trip around Azgeda and Miller hadn’t seen her in days. So it was mostly like he was alone. 

Miller wasn't sure he wanted to share a room with Octavia, anyway. Too much angst.

He tries to cling to the conversation of his dislike of Echo, seeing as that’s what they’re talking about, but his mind is still lingering on the subject of Monty and Roan. 

Miller thought that when Harper and Monty broke up he’d have more of a chance. But with Roan around, doting after Monty, using his money and power to get Monty whatever it is he wants, Miller’s starting to think that his odds are a little slimmer than he originally anticipated. Roan’s _handsome_. And while he can be a bit harsh at times, he’s a fair king. And if he and Monty got together, then Monty would be a king too, probably, and Monty deserves to be royalty. 

“Miller?” Raven asks. 

“Huh?”

“Long day?” Clarke wonders. “You were zoning out.”

Miller ducks his head before shaking it for a bit. He’s being ridiculous. Right? Being super ridiculous about this. 

“Long day,” he confirms.

* * *

 After dinner with the royal family, where Echo make a reappearance and tries to snag a seat near both Bellamy and Roan all at once, even though Monty’s already in the seat beside Roan and Clarke's in the one beside Bellamy, Miller retreats to his room.

He sits in there for a long time, muttering to himself, before leaving to wander the castle. He ends up at Raven and Monty’s room, knocking a few times before letting himself in. 

The two of them are hunched over a desk, scribbling onto some sort of blueprint together, murmuring and occasionally swatting away each other’s hand so they can correct whatever it was that was just scribbled out. When the door creaks, Monty looks up, and a smile so bright and blinding makes Miller’s heart stop in his chest.

“Hey,” Monty greets.

Raven takes the opportunity to nudge Monty’s hand away and add some sort of mark onto the paper. “Mind if I sit in here?” Miller asks. He holds up his book. “My room’s too quiet.”

“Are you complaining that Octavia is MIA?” Raven asks, an eyebrow arched. “Because I feel like that’s not complaint worthy.”

“You all have roommates,” Miller mutters, sinking onto a nearby couch. He doesn’t understand why they weren’t all just given one giant room together. It’s a castle. There’s probably a room somewhere that has six beds. Or four, at least, so Bellamy and Clarke can still be off and alone on their own, co-leaders and all that. “Plus no way in hell am I going to bother Bellamy and Clarke.”

“Probably _busy_ ,” Raven agrees with a grin.

“We should stop for today anyway,” Monty says, looking down at the blueprints in front of them. “I feel like my brain’s going to explode.” He pushes himself away from the table, frowning at Raven who continues to tweak, and starts off for his bed. Monty flings himself onto it, collapsing with a sigh. “What’d you do today, Miller?” he asked. 

“Sparring, sparring, and more sparring,” he grumbles, opening his book.

“I feel like you have other talents that could be used elsewhere,” Monty says. “Is that not true?”

Something between a scoff and a laugh climbs out of Miller’s chest. “I feel like that’s true too. And yet.”

“Every morning,” Raven says, finally moving away from the desk, “up bright and early with Echo.” 

“Ew.” Monty wrinkles his nose. “No. Skip it tomorrow. Come hang out with me instead.” 

Miller actually laughs this time. “And do what? I may have other talents but they’re probably not useful enough to help with tech or whatever it is you do.”

“Mostly I just go wherever Roan wants,” Monty says. Miller’s eyes dart down to his book. “Today we went on a walk through town.”

“How sweet,” Raven sing-songs before climbing into her own bed. Miller clenches his teeth. 

“Azgeda’s actually really neat. A lot more functional than Polis,” Monty carries on. Miller hates Polis. He's glad that Monty seems to dislike Polis, too. “And I got to meet all these cool people who don’t think tech is the worst thing in the world and want to learn more about it.”

“Fantastic,” Miller murmurs. 

“Roan had a younger brother, you know,” Monty says from where he’s stretched out on his bed. It’s so random, so out of the blue, that it startles Miller from the book he’s reading entirely. He can’t even anchor himself to a word anymore, not that he was paying the most attention beforehand though. “Isn’t that weird?”

“That you and Roan talk about family?” Miller asks, flipping his page a little too dramatically. 

“No, siblings. Siblings are so _weird.”_

“Sometimes I feel like we’re all siblings,” Raven chimes from her own bed. “Dramatic, make-shift family.”

“Nah,” Monty says. “I mean–family, yes. But siblings?” Raven shrugs, and Monty shakes his head. 

“How’d you and Roan get on the topic of family?” Miller asks, trying to keep the edge out of his voice. 

“Oh, we talk about everything,” Monty says. 

Miller’s throat feels dry. “How about that,” he murmurs.

* * *

“Well maybe don’t get so aggressive next time,” Clarke says with a huff, winding the bandage around Miller’s arm. It’s _not his fault_ that Echo is the worst. It’s _not_! She just sucks! She didn’t have to go and fucking slice him open. “Or maybe pay better attention.”

“I got distracted,” Miller grits out.

It’s also _not his fault_ that Roan decided to drag Monty through the sparring room at the exact moment Miller was starting to feel a bit more confident about what he’s learned in terms of how to use a sword.

Bellamy crosses his arms over his chest, arching an eyebrow, and Miller frowns at him. 

 _Don’t act like you don’t know_ , he wants to snap. Instead he clenches his teeth a bit tighter and fights the unwieldy fire in his chest. 

“Well we’re going to have to clean this again later,” Clarke says, taking a step back and assessing her work. “God only knows what the hell kind of germs are on their swords.”

“Our swords are cleaned at the end of every session,” Echo says, entering the medical room. The urge to laugh rumbles in Miller’s chest at the way Clarke rolls her eyes. She’s very dramatic. Miller likes to think she learned it from him. “He will be fine.”

“Maybe don’t physically wound my best friend next time,” Bellamy says shortly. 

“It is not my fault he still fumbles,” Echo responds. “Perhaps if he practices more.”

“Perhaps if you fucked off,” Miller mutters. Clarke snorts. 

She turns, ignoring Echo, and rests her hand on Bellamy’s arm. “Miller will be fine,” she says gently, her voice dropping into something soft and sweet. “Can you go find Monty and let him know that, too?”

“What?” Miller blanches. “Why?”

“He was worried,” Bellamy says. _Great_. Not only did Monty see Miller totally suck at sparring, he was _worried_ about his stupid injury. Bellamy’s arms ease from his chest and he bends down, pressing a kiss to Clarke’s forehead. “See you for dinner.”

He turns, leaving Clarke and Miller alone, stalking past Echo without another word. 

“My room after dinner,” Clarke says, poking Miller’s chest slightly. “So I can clean it up again.” She pauses. "Knock before entering.”

Echo scoffs.

* * *

Monty’s suspiciously absent from dinner.

“We had a long day,” Roan says, to which Raven rolls her eyes and Miller grips his chalice so tightly he’s thankful it doesn’t break under the pressure. It's metal, which is probably why, but whatever. “Requested his dinner be sent to him.” 

After they eat Miller heads to Clarke’s room in which she patches up his arm again before starting off to Monty’s. A few knocks with no response has Miller entering carefully, only to find it empty. Not even Raven is there. 

Trying to remember all of the different places that they’re allowed on the castle, Miller starts off to try and find Monty. He hasn’t seen him since the incident earlier that day and he wants to reassure him, personally, that he’s fine, while trying not to make a fool of himself. He also wants to try and gauge whatever the hell it is that’s going on with him and Roan. 

It takes the better part of an hour, but eventually Miller finds Monty in the library, curled up on the couch, asleep.

Miller tries to ignore the way warmth creeps through his entire body. His arms instinctively wrap around himself, wanting to fight off this feeling. Monty has absolutely no right making him feel like _this_. Like hope and peace and serenity are part of the every day routine now. Like there’s a future after all, one that Miller wants more than anything, with a boy who clearly doesn’t want him.

Monty isn’t even _doing_ anything. He’s just _sleeping_.

 _You know it’s more than that_ , Miller thinks weakly to himself. It’s the way he’s curled into himself on the couch, the way his tussled hair is sticking up in every direction, the way the book was sprawled out across his chest, clearly having fallen asleep while reading.

With his arms still wrapped around himself Miller steps forward, failing to stop his chest from feeling like dozens of bubbles are popping inside of it when he sees the book Monty’s reading: _Pride and Prejudice,_ a book that Miller loved on the Ark and recommended to Monty when they got here to help pass the time.

Miller reaches out, carefully resting his hand on Monty’s shoulder. “Monty,” he says softly. With a little shake he repeats Monty’s name, trying to wake him as gently as he can. “Hey, _Monty_.”

Monty blinks awake and Miller literally feels his heart stutter in his chest. “Hi,” Monty murmurs, his voice thick with sleep. Miller’s fingers move on their own, brushing Monty’s hair from his forehead. “I fell asleep?” Monty asks.

“Yeah,” Miller whispers. “Let me walk you back to your room.”

Monty reaches up, rubbing the heel of his hand into his eye. “I can do it alone,” he says with a yawn. “You don’t have to.”

“I want to,” Miller says gently. A sleepy, perfect smile stretches across Monty’s face, and again Miller’s heart is skipping beats. “C’mon.” He holds out his hand to Monty, who accepts it and uses Miller to pull himself into a sitting position.

After a few more blinks Monty pushes himself to stand, forgetting his book on the couch. Miller reaches to grab in, thankful Monty’s been using a bookmark (some old piece of blueprint, it looks like) rather than bending down the corners of pages. Actual books are delicate these days and while it makes them feel more loved with dogeared pages, keeping them in good shape is important.

“Don’t forget this,” Miller says, extending the hard covered book in Monty’s direction.

Monty’s eyes grow wide. “I wanted to surprise you,” he says, his voice so soft that Miller’s sure he’s misheard him. Monty accepts the book before holding in close to him. “You said it was your favorite,” Monty says as they start out of the library. “I wanted to finish it so we could talk about it.”

Miller commands himself to swallow. “Really?”

“It’s a lot harder to get through than I thought,” Monty says, his voice still sleepy. “My days are just so long and then by the time I get to it my eyes start hurting and–”

“Hey,” Miller says, a little laugh in his voice. “It’s okay. No rush.”

Monty’s eyes linger on Miller’s bandage. “And you got hurt today,” he remembers, still soft, still impossibly soft, and Miller rolls his eyes fondly. “Stupid Echo.”

“Stupid Echo,” Miller agrees. “But I’m okay. I should’ve been paying more attention.”

“Roan does tend to be distracting,” Monty says with a yawn. 

Miller’s eyes drop to the ground and they walk in silence. “Yeah,” he finally murmurs. “You’ve, uh, been spending a lot of time with him.”

Monty shrugs. “He’s pretty cool.” Finally they make it back to Monty’s room, the two of them lingering by the door. Monty looks up at Miller, still a little sleepy but with that steady smile of his and asks, “You want to come in?” 

There’s something in his voice that Miller can’t place. 

“I should head to bed,” he says. 

“Yeah,” Monty says, nodding. “Sure. Well. Goodnight.” 

Miller waits a beat. “Goodnight,” he whispers back.

* * *

 See it’s not just the fact that Roan likes to hang out with Monty, or whatever. It’s that Monty also clearly really enjoys hanging out with Roan. And Miller can't even be annoyed or upset about this because Monty sincerely deserves every ounce of happiness that is delivered to him. Multiplied to the thousands. If Roan is who makes Monty happy, Miller's begrudgingly okay with it,  _simply because he wants Monty to be happy_. 

What was it he’d said? _Roan does tend to be distracting_.

In the fields behind the castle, where Roan is tossing a disk for his giant Ice Nation dog to chase after which leaves Monty looking up from his blueprints to laugh brilliantly, Roan is not the distracting one. Not even with his reluctant smile or his nice arms.

It’s just _Monty_. It’s always Monty. It’s always Monty with his brilliant dimples or brilliant brain or brilliant hands that move as though they’re not even part of his body. 

“You have a staring problem,” Bellamy says, settling down on the stone bench in the gardens beside Miller who definitely does have a staring problem. “Have you told him?”

“Who, Monty?” Miller asks. “You’re fucking daft.” 

Monty’s obviously happy without Miller inserting _feelings_ into the mix. 

Bellamy sighs. “I want you to be happy, man.”

“Well we can’t always get what we want, now can we?”

“You’re so dramatic,” Bellamy says, a laugh in his voice. “Tell Monty how you feel. You never know what he’ll say unless you start the conversation, Miller.”

Miller’s quiet for a long time. He watches Roan hand the disk to Monty carefully before Monty tosses it, leading the giant sized dog sprinting after it. 

“He deserves great things,” Miller murmurs. He deserves a crown and a castle and an enormous dog. “Doesn’t he?”

“You _are_ great,” Bellamy says. Miller snorts. “I’m serious! Why won’t you let me appreciate you?”

“Just one of those moods, I guess,” Miller mutters. 

Bellamy places his heavy hand on Miller’s shoulder and squeezes once.

* * *

 If Roan wasn’t talking about Monty, Miller definitely would not be paying attention. But there’s a smile on his face and laugh in his voice and and Miller hates the way it makes him feel. 

“We’re lucky to have such intelligent members of Skaikru here with us tonight,” Roan says. They’re at some fancy ass banquet that Miller does not want to attend. He _wants_ to read a book in bed and bury himself under his covers and pretend that he’s not hating everything about this stupid arrangement. “Raven,” he begins, tipping his head at her slightly. The smile on Raven’s face is smug and dangerous. “And Monty,” he adds. 

From there, he says something about Monty in Trigedasleng, something Miller can’t understand because he doesn’t give a single fuck about their weird language (they were only in space for like, 100 years. Why did they have to develop a new language?), but it makes his blood boil.

Miller grips his wine glass a little tighter in his hand. Why the hell does everyone look so damn _fond_? Clarke, maybe Miller understands, considering Clarke wants her friends to be happy and all of that bullshit. But Bellamy? Bellamy _knows_ how Miller feels about Monty! And to see Roan with his stupid ass Grounder nicknames and Bellamy smiling like he supports it just totally fucking sucks. 

“What’d you say?” Monty asks, clearly not caring that Miller’s heart is in pieces. 

“Just how lucky he is to have a little brother like you,” Bellamy answers before Roan can. 

Monty scoffs and laughs all at once. “Will you quit that?” Monty says. 

“You pester me like family,” Roan says evenly, though he looks happy too. He turns back to the table. “I lost my own brother when we were young,” he announces. “But he was much like Monty, always curious and optimistic and looking for ways to solve problems.” He nods his head a bit. “It’s been a pleasure getting to know you as you work to make our nation stronger,” he says. 

“So _sweet_ ,” Raven hums. 

Roan smirks in her direction. 

Miller feels like he can breathe again. 

* * *

 When dinner is over and a bottle of wine is procured, Monty murmurs something about being sleepy. Miller, exhausted himself from another long day with Echo, turns to him. “I can walk you back,” he says. 

Monty smiles. “You don’t have to,” he says.

“I think I’m going to go to bed too,” he says. They both watch as Clarke and Bellamy clink glasses together. “It’s no trouble.”

Monty doesn’t protest again. Instead they leave the hall together and start their way back to their rooms. Even though they’ve been here for what feels like a long time, the two of them are distracted in their walk because of their conversation and end up missing a turn down a hallway. 

While they’re trying to find their way back, Miller clears his throat. He feels as though this topic has to be addressed immediately. 

“So,” he says. “Roan sees you like a brother.” The halls of the castle are empty, save for a few guards stationed every hundred yards or so. The candles in the walls cast shadows over the floor. “Does that, um.” Miller shakes his head slightly. “Does that bother you?” 

“Bother me?” Monty echoes. “No! I mean–Roan’s actually pretty cool, you know? And I’ve always wanted a brother.” Monty smiles, a soft dopey sort of smile that makes Miller think he doesn’t understand the question. “The next best thing would be Bellamy, I guess, but he kind of acts like a dad sometimes. So Cool Older Brother Roan works for me.” 

“Bellamy’s the next best thing?” Miller bursts. 

“Well it’s not like it could be you,” Monty says. 

Miller scoffs. “And why not?”

“Because you encourage way too much recklessness. And because you’re not supposed to feel this way about your brother,” Monty answers. 

Miller stops walking at once. The air stills. Something soft shivers down Miller’s spine. He looks to Monty who’s stopped walking too, looking down at the ground with a small, reluctant smile. Not only does Roan not see Monty in any romantic context, it appears Monty doesn’t see him that way, either. It feels almost impossible to hope.

Somehow finding his voice Miller asks, “And how’s that?” 

Monty pops his shoulder, almost shrugging. “Do I really have to spell it out?”

Miller moves closer, needing to see Monty’s face in this soft candlelight, needing every detail of this moment to be remembered. “I’d like you to,” Miller whispers. 

Monty looks up then, their eyes meeting, his pupils blown so wide that his eyes look almost black. Miller _wants_. 

“Nate,” Monty starts, but that’s all he gets to say. 

In an ideal world, Miller would’ve waited to hear the reasons, would’ve waited to hear Monty say in clear words how he feels, but Miller melts. To hear his name so soft and sweet in Monty’s mouth it’s impossible. It’s _impossible_. 

He captures Monty’s lips with his own and Monty sighs, reaching up, his fingers curling behind Miller’s ear, tilting his chin down and tugging hard to keep Miller close. No longer caring about anything whatsoever other than this moment, this kiss, the feel of Monty’s lips on his own, Miller winds his arms around Monty’s waist and strides three long steps, pinning Monty to the castle wall. 

“I thought,” Monty rasps, “that you–you were into Roan?”

Miller laughs, unable to respond appropriately. “No fucking way.”

“He’s all…” Monty gestures vaguely and Miller kisses him another time. “Kingly.”

“Yeah,” Miller breathes. “But you’re _you_.” 

Monty’s smile could cast sunshine in the dead of night. No response is needed, nor really wanted at this point, so Miller leans in to keep kissing him. He wants to have Monty’s mouth memorized by the end of the evening, but wants to spend the rest of his life learning every small sound Monty makes. A gasp, a sigh, a whine, Miller wants all of them. He wants to know what makes Monty groan, what makes him fall to pieces. He wants to kiss Monty until neither of them can breathe properly or think in a straight line or feel their fingertips. 

Suddenly, a guard clears his throat. 

Miller isn’t sure how long they’ve been tucked against the wall. He pulls away, never being one for public affection, feeling his face warm. 

“The corridors must be cleared,” the guard says lowly. Monty laughs, his breath warm against Miller’s throat. “We can lead you to your residence, or–”

“We got it,” Monty says. “Promise. We’ll go now. Nate.” 

Miller coughs. “Uh–sorry.”

“Come _on_ ,” Monty says with a laugh, gripping Miller’s hand and tugging him quickly down the hallway with a little wave of his shoulder. They reach Monty’s room quickly and Monty practically pushes him inside before tugging Miller back against the door. 

“Wait,” Miller rasps. Monty frowns. “No Raven?” Miller wonders, eyeing her side of the room skeptically. 

“She’s probably with Roan,” Monty says, waving his hand. “Like every night since we got here.” Miller’s jaw drops and Monty laughs. “That’s why I didn’t want to say anything!” Monty grips Miller’s shirt tightly. “I thought you–it would just…”

Miller kisses him as he trails off. “Looks like things are working out for all of us,” he murmurs, “huh?”

Monty grins. 

* * *

 Raven sneaks in late that night and if she notices Miller in bed with Monty, she thankfully doesn’t comment. Maybe she’s just too tired. But Miller’s still awake, and he nuzzles into Monty’s neck, his scruff against Monty’s skin. 

“Nate,” Monty sighs, happy and soft. Miller presses a soft kiss to Monty’s throat. “Mm…” 

Things are good. 

Things are less good, however, the next morning when Roan marches into the sparring room, Monty trailing behind him his eyes wide and nervous. 

Echo stands at attention. Miller wipes his forehead with his sleeve. 

“Nathan Miller,” Roan greets him. 

Miller blinks. “Yeah?” 

“I’ve seen you fight,” he says. Miller frowns and prepares for this to be bad. But Roan nods his head. “You’re a skilled warrior,” Roan says. “Bellamy speaks highly of your tactical knowledge. And Clarke claims you two grew up together and that you are fiercely loyal.” 

Miller’s eyes dart back to Monty. “Okay...?”

“Even against Echo you can hold your own. Not many can say the same.”

Echo scoffs from where Miller is standing. “He’s still learning,” she sneers.

“Quiet,” Roan barks. Miller arches an eyebrow as Roan looks back to him. “If you hurt Monty I will send my hounds after you,” he says, dropping his voice.

The urge to laugh bubbles up inside of him. Miller swallows it. This is the King of Azgeda, after all.

“Understood,” Miller responds. 

Roan holds his gaze, dark and menacing for just a moment, before he smiles. “I’ll leave you,” he says, turning on his heel. “Teach him well, Echo.”

“I’m trying,” she grits out. Miller winks at Monty, reveling in the grin that lights up his face. “Focus,” Echo demands. Miller turns back to her, not hesitating in thrusting in her direction with his weapon.

Unprepared for his sudden effort Echo falters, slipping backwards, flinging out her arm in an attempt to try and trip him. Still, Miller’s prepared. He isn’t sure he’ll ever admit that Echo’s a good teacher, but he’s definitely improved in his sparring skills.

That’s evident in the way he rolls, pinning her down to the ground, and holding his sword up to her throat. 

Monty whistles from where he stands in the doorway. Roan looks on approvingly.

Miller grins at the disgusted and frustrated look on Echo’s face. 

“Again?” he asks. 


End file.
